Man, Woman & Molly
by Lady Dudley
Summary: After a long day, Molly feels a little unappreciated. Established Sherlolly.


**A/N: I watched an episode of _The Good Life_ ('The Last Posh Frock') the other day and I was inspired. Some of the dialogue is from the episode itself and I borrowed the idea of visiting a "swing club" from the _L&O: SVU_ episode 'Bombshell.' This is also partially inspired by the Florence & the Machine song 'Hurricane Drunk' quoted at the start of the story. It's a little bit like my other story 'What Colour Are My Eyes?' but I hope you enjoy it anyway :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

_**Man, Woman & Molly**_

…  
_I'm going out,  
I'm gonna drink myself to death  
And in the crowd  
I see you with someone else,  
I brace myself,  
Cause I know it's going to hurt,  
But I like to think at least things can't get any worse_  
-'Hurricane Drunk,' Florence & the Machine  
...

Molly liked to think of herself as a reasonably understanding person. In fact, there were several people who believed she deserved a medal for the way she put up with Sherlock's drama without a word of complaint.

But even she had her limits and she'd just about reached it.

She'd thought that her day couldn't possibly get any worse after coming off a thirty-six hour straight shift, but she was wrong. The moment she'd stepped through the door of 221B Sherlock had pounced on her, ushering her into the bedroom and practically ordering her to get dressed up to help him on a case.

Too tired to argue, Molly had obediently put on her best dress and received a brief nod of approval for her efforts before he dragged her out to a swing club of all places. Molly didn't really want to know what kind of a case he was working on that required him to visit such a place, but she could appreciate why he had insisted she come along in John's stead.

What she hadn't appreciated was being dropped like a hot potato almost the moment they walked in the door. Sherlock had disappeared with a leggy blonde and she'd been left nursing a drink at the bar, ignoring any and all offers as she was determined to leave the moment Sherlock was ready.

She sighed heavily as she swallowed the last of her drink and stood up; she didn't care how important this case was, she was finding Sherlock and they were going home. If she didn't get some sleep soon she was going to collapse.

That had been when she'd seen him, still with the blonde from earlier and making every effort to be charming and attentive. She narrowed her eyes, he was never like that with her.

In hindsight, throwing what remained of his drink in his face was probably a slight overreaction, but it did make her feel better.

Although the feeling didn't last very long as the stiletto on one of her heels broke as she stalked off; mustering what was left of her dignity in her sleep addled state, Molly left the club.

To her surprise, Sherlock followed her out, silently joining her outside and hailing a cab to take them home.

They rode home in silence, but Molly could feel Sherlock's eyes on her.

"Tea?" he asked, breaking the silence as they entered 221B. Molly ignored him as she flopped onto the couch with a huff and started to take her shoes off. Sherlock pursed his lips, but said nothing as he disappeared into the kitchen.

He reappeared a few minutes later and took a seat next to her, he carefully placed a tray with a teapot and two teacups on the table.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" he asked finally, turning to face her.

"You're the genius detective, you tell me," Molly huffed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he turned to pour them both a cup of tea, waiting for the inevitable outburst.

He didn't have to wait long.

Molly narrowed her eyes as she watched him, "You…two-faced, inconsiderate, selfish _rat_," Molly spat.

Sherlock blinked, "What?"

"Don't 'what' me," she rounded on him, "I just came off a thirty-six hour straight shift, the _last_ thing I wanted to do was to go to some shady club and watch you drool all over another woman."

"I wasn't drooling," he protested, "besides, it was for a case."

"Oh of course, it was for a _case_," Molly said sarcastically as she stood up and began pacing the room, "how silly of me, that makes it all right then."

Sherlock watched her pace, "It didn't mean anything."

"I know," she shot back, still pacing, "but did you have to be so convincing? You made me get all dressed up," she said, giving her dress a tug, "and you barely even _glanced_ at me."

Molly sighed and sat down on the armrest of Sherlock's chair, "Sometimes it feels like you believe there are three sexes in the world: man, woman and Molly." She looked up at him, "And just once, now and again, I would like to feel like I am a normal, attractive _woman_."

"Well that's ridiculous," Sherlock scoffed.

Molly stared at him with wide, hurt eyes, "Thank you," she said quietly.

"I didn't mean _that_," Sherlock explained hastily, he picked up her teacup, "just…calm down, have a cup of tea."

Molly shook her head, blinking back her tears, "I don't want any tea."

"It will make you feel better," he insisted.

"I don't want any," she insisted, standing up abruptly.

Unfortunately she hadn't noticed that Sherlock had moved towards her, meaning she ended up knocking the cup of tea and spilling it all over her dress in the process.

Both of them regarded the damage to her dress in silence.

"Excuse me," Molly said in a small voice, stepping passed him.

Sherlock turned around and was about to say something, when she picked up the teapot. Sherlock's eyes widened and he unconsciously took a step back as she turned around.

But she wasn't interested in emptying the teapot on him, instead she poured it down the front of her dress.

Sherlock regarded her dripping form for a long moment, "Well that's just silly," he said finally.

"No it's not," Molly insisted, her voice a little choked from unshed tears, "these are girl's clothes and what am I doing in girl's clothes anyway? I'm not a girl, I'm a Molly and _this_," she indicated her ruined dress, "is what a Molly looks like."

Sherlock didn't know what to say, but his heart broke as her tears started to fall and she left the room. He started a little as she slammed the bedroom door behind her; he looked around at the empty room: he didn't need John to tell him that this was 'not good.'

Much later that evening, Molly squeezed her eyes shut as she heard Sherlock make his way tentatively into the bedroom. He surprised her by coming around to her side of the bed.

"I know you're not asleep," he said quietly.

Molly kept her eyes closed, ignoring him; she heard him sigh and could almost see him run a hand through his hair in exasperation.

"I'm sorry, Molly," he continued, "I should have been more sensitive. It was wrong of me to drag you out tonight, especially as it was for a case." He paused, "And you're right, I don't pay much attention to what you're wearing but…I don't see that when I look at you."

"What do you see then?" she asked softly, keeping her eyes closed.

"I see my Molly," he confessed, she opened her eyes in surprise and found him crouching next to the bed, looking very unsure of himself. He gave a short laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck, "What I'm trying to say, is that I don't care about those things," he shrugged a shoulder, "it's irrelevant," he paused, "but if it's important to you then I'll try and pay more attention."

"It's not about the dress, Sherlock," she said quietly.

"I know," he said seriously, "you were right, you know," he continued, "I _do_ see three sexes in the world, but I'm only interested in _Molly_." He sighed as he stood up, "I'm not good with sentiment, Molly," he told her, pacing, "I just assume I don't have to tell you things like I love you because you know."

"Do you?" she interrupted before he could continue.

He paused, looking confused, "Do I what?"

"Love me?"

Sherlock blinked as he realised what he'd said, "Yes."

"Oh."

Sherlock gave a small hum of assent as he rocked on his heels, a little embarrassed by his admission.

"I suppose you'd better come to bed then," she said finally.

Sherlock let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding as he moved to get changed.

"This doesn't mean I forgive you," Molly told him sleepily as he slipped under the covers, "I'm just too tired to be angry right now."

"Fair enough," he said, kissing her forehead as she snuggled into his chest.

He closed his eyes and was about to drift off when Molly broke the silence, "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you too," she mumbled into his chest, snuggling a little closer.

He smiled sleepily, "I know," he said, tightening his hold on her as they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
